Lament

Summary: A lone wanderer from Vault 101 stumbles upon a chance to reunite a family and hires a ghoul to help her do it.

A Star in the Wastes

I was trained not to
act on anything other than my orders from the one who held my
contract. There is no way around it—I am a servant to my master,
and whoever may hold that contract holds my existence. Don’t
get me wrong—I hate that motherfucker of a ghoul Ahzrukhal, but as
long as he had that paper in his hands, I couldn’t respond in any
other way than with protection or loyalty to him. On the outside, I’m
some sort of mindless ghoul that responds to anything Ahzrukhal
demands and tells everyone else to fuck off, but I do have a mind of
my own, somewhere in my head. When I saw the boss for the first time,
I had some opinions about her.

When she entered the
Ninth Circle, she brought along this air of independence and
attitude, like she was someone who didn’t take shit from nobody. It
had the same effect as a unicorn trying to look evil. I never took to
anyone, especially some smoothskin. Who the hell did she think she
was, wandering into Underworld? It was a city run by ghouls,
inhabited only by ghouls. And if you’ve never heard of a ghoul, you
fucking mole rat, we’re sorry assholes that’d received just the
right amount of radiation to make our skin fall off, some of our
organs melt, and our lifespans inflate, like it was some sort of sick
fuck’s joke to make us suffer through that forever. Smoothskins
thought we were monsters and chased us out of their towns. Yeah,
there was a lot of lynching. So this city, tucked away in the ruins
of the Museum of History in the heart of D.C., was a safe haven for
us, and not a welcome place for a porcelain doll like her.

How the fuck did she
make it in the front door without getting chased out with pitch forks
and torches? Must’ve had a way with words, that one. Especially
because she looked fucking weird. The kind of weird where everyone in
the bar turned to her to stare, even those that couldn’t give to
shits if she was a smoothskin or not. Something like her couldn’t
be natural. She had this head of long, silvery blonde hair, almost as
if it were white, kind of like a ghoul’s hair if it used to be
yellow. You’d think that it’d give her a delicate look, but as
she stalked across the floor, I saw her pitch black eyes taking in
the room, like two trap pits waiting to suck in any unsuspecting
idiot that dared walk near them. To top it all off, she was wearing
this ridiculous vault suit, only a little dirtied and torn. Fucking
fresh meat. She wouldn’t last, even with the balls she seemed to
have.

Her eyes landed on me,
but she didn’t give so much as a double take before she sat at the
bar. I found that awfully bold too—most ghouls cowered every day
when they saw me standing in the corner of the bar, watching over
Ahzrukhal and his miserable hide. They had the wherewithal to know
what I stood for. If my orders weren’t to stay put and leave the
customers alone, I woulda torn her a fresh one and chased her all the
way to the museum concourse. Every second I watched her, I grew more
agitated. I wanted her the fuck outta Underworld, but there was no
way I could do that. I was hoping the asshole, Ahzrukhal, would do it
himself, but he encouraged her, fucking encouraged her, chattin’
her up for all she was worth.

“I’m glad we’ve
established that,” she said. Her voice was smooth, but real fuckin’
cold. “Please pass the wine.”

“Certainly, ma’am,”
he tried to reply smoothly (but like every ghoul, it came out like a
death rattle) and he grabbed a bottle from the lower shelf behind
him, placing it in front of her. “That will be twenty-five caps.”

“I’m not interested
in starting any confrontations.” She popped the cork without much
effort (because it had been shoved in rather poorly when it was
re-bottled) and took a sip from the bottle. Not very ladylike, but
Ahzrukhal didn’t exactly give her a glass, either. “You have the
caps in your hand.”

“My dear girl, I am
afraid I have not received payment for your beverage,” he said, his
voice leaking out from him like a perpetually dying animal. Of course
the kid paid him—I saw her put the caps down and his greasy hand
swipe it up. That didn’t mean I was going to throw a fucking
campaign for her case.

I nudged her shoulder
with the barrel of my gun. “Pay.”

She looked up over her
shoulder at me, and I don’t know if she was intentionally trying to
intimidate me, but I found her expression hilarious. It was blank,
but those black eyes were just burning with rage. Something besides
Ahzrukhal had pissed in her Sugar Bombs, that was for sure.

She was a wannabe hard
ass but she was smart. She pulled another handful of caps from her
pocket, counted them, then placed them on the counter rather calmly,
considering her circumstances. “Thank you, madame,” Ahzrukhal
said.

She didn’t answer the
slick bastard, but instead she took another swig of wine. “It’s
quite good here,” she said, holding out the bottle and reading the
label. Fuck, she was cheeky.

Ahzrukhal waved me away
(the motherfucker), and I turned back to my corner, refitting my
shotgun on my back. “I’m glad you take to it. It’s a 2075,
Chardonnay, very well aged, if I do say so myself.”

She took another drink
instead of answering.

“So,” Ahzrukhal
said, that familiar tone of plotting and sick intention seeping into
his voice, “what brings your business into Underworld?”

“I’m looking for my
father.”

If I didn’t have the
orders to keep silent, I would have scoffed. What made her think
she’d find another smoothskin running around down here? It was
crazy enough that she was allowed in, but two? Fucking brat.
Ahzrukhal found this amusing too, for he chuckled his awful, grinding
chuckle.

“And to what do you
owe your belief that your father would be here?”

“I’ve been checking
every place.” She took another swig. It was only wine, but she was
turning out to be some sort of hard drinker.

“I have to be quite
honest with you, child. If your father is still human, he would not
be here, let alone ever come across this place. Thus, I have to say,
I am quite confounded as to how you chanced upon this city, and how
you have made your stay here without rising a disturbance.”

“I’m quite civil.
It doesn’t hurt to look everywhere.”

“Oh, but it can."

“If I’m that much
of a disturbance,” she said, rising off of her stool, “I’ll
take my caps elsewhere.”

“I meant no offence,
of course. I was only curious. Please, sit.”

She looked at the seat,
then took another sip of her wine. “Not if your body guard is going
to listen in on every word we utter,” she said, smooth tone
dropping. She placed the half empty bottle on the counter a little
less than gently, and motioned to it with distaste. “It’s a
Sauvignon Blanc, and it tastes like vinegary grass. Have a nice day.”

She breezed past me,
and didn’t so much as make eye contact with anyone as she pushed
past the door, her icy demeanor hanging in the air. Well, I’m not a
poet or anything, but that’s the only way I could describe it. The
bitch was cold, but she wasn’t evil, not like Ahzrukhal. I kept my
composure stoic and expressionless as he looked to me—not that I
could do otherwise—and he brushed a hand over his wisps of hair,
putting the small confrontation aside. I’d like to say that I was
unmoved by the whole thing, but that little scene was damn well fun.
A pale, fair-haired girl—smoothskin kid—riling up Ahzrukhal’s
feathers. Oh yeah, I was amused, if not just a tad bit impressed. But
she was out of the bar, and I was starting to feel just a bit better,
just a bit more at ease, but that wasn’t the last I saw of the
boss. Yeah, she and I were going to be doing a lot of business
together. A hell of a thing it is, but I never got her name.

I still regret that.

The moment I stepped
into the Wastes, I knew that every notion I had had of being
resourceful, independent, intelligent, and strong had been childishly
misplaced. I was raised in the shelter of the Vault for so long, that
facing potential danger around every bend and every slope was too
much to handle. I had a few close calls, but with time, I got used to
hiding and running. I got used to everything so much that I suppose I
became numb. I didn’t care if people helped me or not (considering
they rarely did help me) and I didn’t care if people were saved or
hurt because of my actions. When I was first expelled from home, I
did care for the well-being of the general populace. My first
experience with the Wasteland locals was to be shot at and threatened
to be raped and murdered and eaten, in no particular order.
Compassion can’t survive that long in a place like this.

At first, I was angry
for him leaving me behind in the Vault. He had gone in the middle of
the night without saying a word. He thought I would be safest there,
I suppose. But no one ever left the Vault. The door hadn’t been
opened since it had been closed during the nuclear war two hundred
years ago. Naturally, his breaking out was a nightmare. And everyone
blamed me for it. They were willing to kill me for it.

Even if I could go back
there, I wouldn’t. I longed for comfort, for safety, I longed to
know that my best friend Amata would be right there for me, but I
knew that there was no going back to that. I belonged nowhere now.
Not in Vault 101, and certainly nowhere in the Wasteland, so the only
thing I had left was to find my father. Wherever he was was the only
place I had left. Finding him, however, had proven more difficult
than I could have imagined. The world was a lot bigger than the
Vault, and no amount of reading could prepare you for how it swallows
you whole.

The first human
settlement I came across outside the Vault was Megaton. It was a town
built around the crater that still housed the atomic bomb that never
detonated. There’s something to be said for drawing closer to death
for life. It had maybe a hundred residents, all of them small people,
probably from generations of malnutrition. Some were menacing and
wore old car parts for armour. Some wore rags and collected soda
bottle caps to trade for food. And some were clean, intelligent, and
avid conversationalists. Honestly, I thought I could ask for a
helping hand and receive it without a moment’s hesitation.

I learned quite quickly
that all of those people only spoke to others if they saw some sort
of angle they could gain from. Some asked for sexual favours in
return for my help. Some seemed polite enough while surreptitiously
putting a price on their time (it turns out bottle caps were the
currency used here). Some of them asked for much worse things in
exchange for help. Then there were those who had seen him, but no one
dared tell me anything in fear of something much worse than I.

After that, I left
Megaton behind, and began searching for my father the hardest way
possible—one step at a time. I scoured each and every crevasse of
the Wasteland. Pre-war ruins, natural caves, other settlements, in
old cars and decrepit shacks. If my father was only half a day ahead
of me, I would surely find him in due time. But as they days steadily
increased, the further and farther away he got from me, and I knew my
chances of ever seeing him again had died. With nothing else, though,
just looking for him every day was all that kept me going. I’d
never find him, but I could not stop looking.

Then I found
Underworld.

I wanted to storm from
Ahzrukhal’s bar but kept my composure. I wanted to see Carol. Of
all the vermin I’d met so far, she was the most human, including
some of my previous bunkermates in Vault 101, even though I wasn’t
sure if one could call her human anymore. I had visited her earlier
in the day, and she offered me her life story from before the war in
2077. Unfortunately, she had no information of my father, a man named
James from Vault 101. I couldn’t have expected anything more than
that. I did learn everything there was to know about ghouls and how
they functioned, however, and I was careful with this information.
The fact that ghouls were vehemently opposed by humans, and they
themselves had qualms of their unfortunate transformation, I was wary
of how I regarded Carol after that. I wasn’t sure if she’d turn
on me like everyone before her had after offering me false kindness.
However, she still seemed to confront me with a certain liking, for
when I stepped into her inn, she smiled at me kindly from behind her
desk.

“Oh, how lovely it is
to see you again!” Carol chimed in her scratchy voice as I walked
through the door. “Are you looking to rent a room for the night,
perhaps?”

“Yes.” I leaned on
the counter. “I was wondering, though…the
tall ghoul in the Ninth Circle. Who is he?”

“Oh, you must mean
Charon.” She had to blink the fear away. “He’s Ahzrukhal’s
personal bodyguard. He’s been here for, oh…quite a few years now.
He’s very loyal to Ahzrukhal, but not by choice.”

“Not by choice. What
do you mean?”

“It’s a horrible
story, really,” Carol replied sadly, opening her cash register and
digging out a handful of caps. She started to count them on the
counter absentmindedly in front of me; either this was a show of
trust, or she wanted to distract herself as she recounted the tale.
“Story goes that when he was a boy, he was brainwashed into serving
anyone who held his contract. Blindly, not to mention. Whatever his
contract holder commands, he does.” She dumped her caps back into
the register and scooped out another handful. “Who knows for how
many years he’s been living his life for other people. Just a
constant cycle of slavery for him.”

“How is it that he
ended up here with Ahzrukhal?”

“Oh, nobody knows
that but those two,” Carol said, waving a hand through the air and
shaking her head slightly. “For all I know, Charon could’ve
accidentally blundered into one of Azhrukhal’s greasy traps. Poor
boy.”

“So, he’s strictly
forbidden to do anything other than what his employer dictates?”

“In a nutshell, yes.
I’m not sure if the man’s completely brainwashed, or if he really
feels hate and distaste for each and every one of us. He seems to
look at everybody that way, at least. He doesn’t talk to anyone
other than Ahzrukhal, so there’s no real way of telling for sure.”

So, either he was your
greatest enemy, or the most useful asset in a battle. “Ahzrukhal is
virtually untouchable, then.”

“Yes, unless you
could stomach standing up to Charon.”

I had hand-to-hand
combat training, but he had a good foot on me an a couple dozen
kilograms, at least. He could have wiped the floor with me, so to
speak.

When I didn’t carry
the conversation any further, Carol started to wring her hands.
“Actually, I was thinking…I have a favour to ask of you.”

I wasn’t keen on
doing people favours; no one seemed to want to do me one by helping
me find my father. But I could see the unease in the way Carol
fidgeted, her sharp red eyes darting from side to side. I did not cut
her off, nor egg her on, but waited for her to continue.

“About Gob…”

Gob, the ghoul she
loved like a son. When I first met Carol, I couldn’t help but ask
her if she was the Carol who knew the ill-fated bartender back in
Megaton. When Carol heard that I had met Gob, she was so delighted,
asking me a plethora of questions and I tried to answer them the best
I could. I honestly hadn’t converse with him all too much. He’d
been one of the people that had been reluctant to help me when I
asked about my father. He was harmless and spineless, but he was also
quite likely a slave to the man who owned the bar, much like this
Charon. The moment I had told Carol this, she had held her composure
well. I’m sure that on the inside, she was simply falling apart.

“I was hoping…I
know this is so much to ask of you, I know you’re trying to look
for your father, but…could you bring my son home? I know it would
be dangerous, taking him away from his master, but I…after you told
me what happened to him, I don’t think I could bear it day to day
knowing he’s unhappy.”

My automatic response
would have been no, but I stopped myself before I spoke. I was a
daughter, roaming the Wastes in an endless search to find my father,
unwilling to help others in return for their help, expecting only
kindness for my gratitude. I think I was afraid of the guilt, the
blood stained hands, the chances of death, but most of all, I was
worried about how it would change me. If I did all those things
people asked of me, would I be the same daughter that my father had
left behind? Carol was a mother who had no likely way of seeing her
own son again, each bound by their livelihood and their fate. She had
nothing to offer me but her hopes. She was at my mercy. We were the
same.

I thought on this for a
moment, and then I nodded. “I’ll help you get Gob back. But,” I
interjected quickly, just as her eyes lit up, “his master,
Moriarty, won’t let him go until his room and board are paid off.
If you want me to get Gob out of there safely, I’m going to need a
lot of caps.”

“Oh, my dear, of
course!” Carol nearly sang, absolutely radiant with joy. This
shocked me; I hadn’t met anyone that would have accepted such a
ludicrous term so eagerly, both in the Wasteland and in the Vault.
“I’m willing to give you my life savings for him! Please, if you
think you can do this for me, I’ll be forever grateful.”

I hesitated. “Of
course.” All the other favours and ill deeds I turned down would
have been to earn the commodity of my father’s location, whereas
this favour was in no way beneficial to my goal. I think that I
accepted Carol’s request so easily because I could understand her
misfortune. I realized that I really was selfish, wishing that others
would just help me out because I was in need, but I suppose it was
really me who was being unaccommodating. I wasn’t the only helpless
one out there.

“Oh, thank you, thank
you!” Carol said, reaching across the counter and grasping either
side of my face. Her hands were so hot, and the remainder of her skin
scraped against me where she touched my cheeks, but I did not pull
away. The simple gesture pulled at my heart.

“I have no idea how
much it will cost you to bail out Gob, but I’ll give you
everything, just to be safe. This might not even cover it, but…I
trust you. You’re not bad for a human, and I know I can count on
you.”

This was the first time
since Amata had told me to leave and never come back that I’d
willingly set aside my search for my father. At the rate I was going,
I was going to lose my mind sooner than later. Maybe, just maybe, I
was doing this to feel human again. If I could help a mother and son
find each other again, maybe I could feel like I had found what I was
looking for.

Carol dipped down
behind the counter, placing suitcase after suitcase down on the table
in front of her. “There’s…two thousand…caps in each…of
these,” she said as she placed each one down. Carol stood straight,
absolutely beaming.

There were four of
them. I stared. That was far too much money. And she was just willing
to hand it over to me. Someone she just met. Someone she ought not
trust so easily. That’s not to mean I was going to steal it from
her and go back on my word. I would be cheating myself that way. But
eight thousand caps. And to carry it all?

“I’ll need a
backpack for these.”

“Yes, yes, let me get
one for you!” I could see the exposed muscle in her face
contracting as she brandished her rotten teeth in a smile. She
disappeared around the corner.

She was a kind-hearted
woman. It felt warm to be around someone like that. It had been so
long. Maybe, after all, all I needed to do was to put my own
interests on hold while I helped others in need within my
capabilities. Bring back what was strongest about me. I used to
protect people for a living. Could I not still do that? Return myself
to a state of normality? My father would have to wait. I couldn’t
find him in the way I was. I wouldn’t have wanted him to see me
like that.

Carol returned with a
backpack that looked older than her. She put the suitcases inside and
we tested the strength of the straps. The integrity wasn’t all that
great, so she offered to reinforce the bag overnight with brahmin
leather.

She touched my hand
again, positively beaming. “It’s getting late. You’d better
stay for the night. I won’t charge you, of course, and there’ll
be a free meal in it for you.”

“Thank you,” was
all I could say.

Nothing was to go as
planned. Nothing ever does, though, does it? It’s like a stream of
water on your hand: there’s no way to tell which way it will fall
until it does. I suppose it’s this factor which makes life more
beautiful, for everything is unpredictable, but my fate and Charon’s
weren’t going to slide off onto the beautiful side of the hand.
But, if I could go back and relive those moments, I wouldn’t change
a thing.

spatiaangelus :
Loved reading this novel. the intricacy of the storyline, the amount of detail and the development of the plot was amazing.Not only is it a unique read, I found it utterly enjoyable and cannot wait to read more

William Elliott Kern:
A young boy," later found on the highway by General Jarda", was murdered by Barbarians, came back to life as he was an Anmah, age 6 when the loss of his family had occured.........General Jarda, took the boy, gave him a new name, and introduced him to another Anham and the King, This Story is w...

NancyRichFoster:
Wow! This is a blow you away story in every sense of the word. kudos to the author for a story about a killer virus caused by seeing colors, mad scientists, torture, friends, sacrifice and death. I read it in less then a day.

greatbooks:
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Keith:
UNSCRIPTED is an excellent, well-told story of a woman who tries to find herself after the painful break-up of her marriage. She does so,intriguingly, by going to Cambodia to help supervise the first free election after the brutal reign of Pol Pot and The Killing Fields. I was drawn to this story...

Nida Bhounr:
the novel was a very typical and clichéd plot boy meets girls , impregnates her and leaves her because of prior commitments then they meet up again. but nonetheless it was very nicely written. it was very typical but i liked it.

Muhammed Arfin:
really nice.I m reading novel after a long time.it is really fascinating.those people interested in espionage will like this tale.if one needs to advance his know how about espionage this book is your destination

JWalker:
I loved this story from start to finish! It flows at a really nice pace and the story world feels so real. The fight sequences are a treat especially when Isanfyre is training to become a warrior. I found the names really cool and thankfully easy to pronounce. Personally I have always struggled w...

Lydia Sherrer:
I first read The Speaker almost a decade ago when I first discovered author Sandra Leigh. I loved it then, and I still love it now. It is a simple, easy read, yet deep in meaning and rich in storyline. I do not know what kind of research or prior knowledge Leigh has of First Nation tribes, but sh...

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